_Chapter Fifteen_
Alan sat very quietly in the empty apartment that had once belonged toMax Hawkes, and stared at nothing in particular. It was five hours sincethe abortive robbery. He was alone.
The news had been blared out over every form of communication there was;he knew the story by heart. A daring robbery had been attempted, butpolice detection methods had yielded advance warning, and the robbershad been frustrated. The roboguards had been specially equipped oneswhich could shift to an alternate wavelength in case of emergency; theyhad blanked out only momentarily. And special guards had been postedwithin the bank, ready to charge out. Byng and Hawkes had tried to blockthe doorway and they had been shot down. Hawkes was killed instantly;Byng died an hour later in the hospital.
At least two other members of the gang had been apprehended--Jensen andSmith, both trapped by the roboguards. It was known that at least twoother men and possibly more had participated in the attempt, and thesewere being traced now.
Alan was not worried. He had not been within a hundred feet of thecrime, and it had been easy for him to slip away unnoticed. The othershad had little difficulty either--Webber, Hollis, Kovak, McGuire, andFreeman. There was a chance that Hollis or Kovak had been recognized; inthat case, they could be tracked down by televector. But Alan was notregistered on the televector screens--and there was no other way oflinking him with the crime.
He glanced around the apartment at Hawkes' bar and his audio system andall the dead man's other things. Yesterday, Alan thought, Hawkes hadbeen here, alive, eyes sparkling as he outlined the plans for therobbery a final time. Now he was dead. It was hard to believe that sucha many-sided person could have been snuffed out so soon, so quickly.
A thought occurred. The police would be investigating the disposition ofHawkes' property; they would want to know the relationship betweenHawkes and Alan, and perhaps there would be questions asked about therobbery. Alan decided to forestall that.
He reached for the phone. He would call Security, tell them he had beenliving with Hawkes and had heard of the gambler's sudden violent death,and in all innocence ask for details. He would----
The door-announcer chimed.
Alan whirled and put down the receiver. Reaching out, he flicked on thedoorscreen and was shown a view of a distinguished-looking middle-agedman in the silver-gray uniform of the police. _So soon?_ Alan thought._I didn't even get a chance to call----_
"Who is it?" he asked, in a surprisingly even voice.
"Inspector Gainer of Global Security."
Alan opened the door. Inspector Gainer smiled warmly, walked in, tookthe seat Alan offered him. Alan felt tense and jumpy, and hoped not toomuch of it showed.
The Security man said, "Your name is Alan Donnell, isn't it? And you'rea Free Status man, unregistered, employed as a professional gamesmanClass B?"
Alan nodded. "That's right, sir."
Gainer checked a notation on a pad he carried. "I suppose you've heardthat the man who lived here--Max Hawkes--was killed in an attemptedrobbery this morning."
"Y-yes, sir. I heard it a little while ago, on the newscasts. I'm stilla little shaken up. W-would you care for a drink, Inspector?"
"Not on duty, thanks," Gainer said cheerfully. "Tell me, Alan--how longdid you know Max Hawkes?"
"Since last May. I'm an ex-starman. I--jumped ship. Max found mewandering around the city and took me in. But I never knew anythingabout any robberies, Inspector. Max kept his mouth pretty well sealedmost of the time. When he left here this morning, he said he was goingto the bank to make a deposit. I never thought----"
He stopped, wondering whether he sounded convincing. At that moment along jail sentence or worse seemed inevitable. And the worst part of itwas that he had not wanted to take part in the robbery, indeed _had_ nottaken part--but in the eyes of the law he was undoubtedly as guilty asany of the others.
Gainer raised one hand. "Don't misunderstand, son. I'm not here as acriminal investigator. We don't suspect you had any part in theattempt."
"Then why----"
He drew an envelope from his breast pocket and unfolded the papers itcontained. "I knew Max pretty well," he said. "About a week ago he cameto see me and gave me a sealed envelope which was to be opened only inthe event of his death on this particular day, and to be destroyedunopened otherwise. I opened it a few hours ago. I think you ought toread it."
With trembling fingers Alan took the sheaf of papers and scanned them.They were neatly typed; Alan recognized the blocky purple characters ofthe voicewrite Hawkes kept in his room.
He started to read.
The document explained that Hawkes was planning a bank robbery to takeplace on Friday, October 3, 3876. He named none of his accomplices. Hewent on to state that one Alan Donnell, an unregistered ex-starman, wasliving with him, and that this Alan Donnell had no knowledge whatsoeverof the intended bank robbery.
_Furthermore_, Hawkes added, _in the event of my death in the intendedrobbery, Alan Donnell is to be sole heir and assign of my worldly goods.This supersedes and replaces any and all wills and testaments I may havemade at any past time._
Appended was a schedule of the properties Hawkes was leaving behind.Accounts in various savings banks totalled some three quarters of amillion credits; besides that, there were scattered investments, realestate holdings, bonds. The total estate, Hawkes estimated, was worthslightly over one million credits.
When Alan finished, he looked up startled and white-faced at the olderman. "All of this is mine?"
"You're a pretty rich young man," Gainer agreed. "Of course, there areformalities--the will has to be probated and contested, and you canexpect it to be contested by somebody. If you still have the full estatewhen the courts get through with you, you'll be all right."
Alan shook his head uncomprehendingly. "The way he wrote this--it's asif he _knew_."
"Max Hawkes always knew," Gainer said gently. "He was the best hunch-manI've ever seen. It was almost as if he could look a couple of days intothe future all the time. Sure, he knew. And he also knew it was safe toleave this document with me--that he could trust me not to open it.Imagine, announcing a week ahead of time that you're going to rob a bankand then turning the announcement over sealed to a police officer!"
Alan started. The police had known about the robbery in advance--thatwas how Max and the dreamduster Byng had been killed. Had Gainer beenthe one who had betrayed them? Had he opened the sealed envelope aheadof time, and sent Max to his death?
No. It was inconceivable that this soft-spoken man would have done sucha thing. Alan banished the thought.
"Max knew he was going to be killed," he said. "And yet he went aheadwith it. Why?"
"Maybe he wanted to die," Gainer suggested. "Maybe he was bored withlife, bored with always winning, bored with things as they were. The manwas never born who could figure out Max Hawkes, anyway. You must havefound that out yourself."
Gainer rose. "I'll have to be moving along, now. But let me give yousome suggestions, first."
"Sir?"
"Go downtown and get yourself registered in Free Status. Have them giveyou a televector number. You're going to be an important person when youget all that money. And be very careful about who your friends are. Maxcould take care of himself; you may not be so lucky, son."
"Is there going to be an investigation of the robbery?" Alan asked.
"It's under way already. You may be called down for questioning, butdon't let it worry you. I turned a copy of Max's will over to themtoday, and that exonerates you completely."
It was strangely empty in the apartment that night; Alan wished Gainerhad stayed longer. He walked through the dark rooms, half expecting Maxto come home. But Max wasn't coming home.
Alan realized he had been tremendously fond of Hawkes. He had neverreally shown it; he had never demonstrated much warmth toward thegambler, especially in the final days when they both lived under thepressure of the planned robbery. But Alan knew he owed much to Hawkes,rogue and rascal
though he was. Hawkes had been basically a good man,gifted--_too_ gifted, perhaps--whose drives and passions led him beyondthe bounds of society. And at thirty-five he was dead, having known inadvance that his last day was at hand.
The next few days were busy ones. Alan was called to Securityheadquarters for questioning, but he insisted he knew nothing about therobbery or Hawkes' friends, and the document Hawkes had left seemed tobear him out. He was cleared of all complicity in the robbery.
He next went to the Central Directory Matrix and registered in FreeStatus. He was given a televector transmitter--it was surgicallyembedded in the fleshy part of his thigh--and he accepted a drink fromfat old Hines MacIntosh in remembrance of Hawkes.
He spoke briefly with MacIntosh about the process of collecting onHawkes' estate, and learned it was a complex process, but nothing to befrightened of. The will was being sent through channels now.
He met Hollis in the street several days later. The bloated loansmanlooked pale and harried; he had lost weight, and his skin hung flabbilyover his bones now. Little as Alan liked the loansman, he insisted ontaking him to a local restaurant for lunch.
"How come you're still hanging around York City?" Alan asked. "I thoughtthe heat was on for any of Max's old buddies."
"It is," Hollis said, wiping sweat from his white shiny forehead. "Butso far I'm in the clear. There won't be much of an investigation; theykilled two and caught two, and that'll keep them happy. After all, therobbery was a failure."
"Any notion why it failed?"
Hollis nodded. "Sure I have a notion! It was Kovak who tipped them off."
"Mike?--but he looked okay to me."
"And to everybody. But he owed Bryson a lot, and Bryson was anxious todispose of Max. So Kovak turned the plans of the robbery over toBryson's boys in exchange for a quitclaim on the money he owed, andBryson just forwarded it all on to the police. They were waiting for uswhen we showed up."
That cleared Gainer, Alan thought in some relief. "How did you find allthis out?"
"Bryson himself told me."
"What!"
"I guess he didn't know exactly who besides Max was in on the deal.Anyway, he certainly didn't know I was part of the group," Hollis said."Old man Bryson was laying off some bets with me and he let somethingslip about how he tipped the police to Max. Then he told me the wholething."
"And Kovak?"
"Dead," Hollis said bluntly. "Bryson must have figured that if he'd sellMax out he'd sell anybody out, so Kovak got taken care of. He was foundyesterday. Heart failure, the report said. Bryson has some good drugs.Say, kid--any word yet on what's going to happen to all Max's dough?"
Alan thought a moment before replying. "I haven't heard a thing. I guessthe government inherits it."
"That would be too bad," Hollis said speculatively. "Max was wellloaded. I'd like to get my hands into some of that dough myself. Sowould Bryson and his bunch, I'll bet."
Alan said nothing. When he was through eating, he paid the check andthey left, Hollis heading north, Alan south. In three days, Hawkes' willwould go through the courts. Alan wondered if Bryson, who seemed to beYork City's major criminal syndic man, would try to angle some share ofMax's money.
A Bryson man did show up at the hearing--a slick-looking operator namedBerwin. His claim was that Hawkes had been affiliated with Bryson anumber of years ago, and that Hawkes' money should revert to Bryson byvirtue of an obscure law of the last century involving the estates ofprofessional gamblers killed in criminal actions.
The robocomputer who was in charge of the hearing pondered the request afew moments; then relays clicked and the left-hand panel on the computerface lit up with a bright red APPLICATION DENIED signal.
Berwin spoke for three minutes, ending up with a request that therobocomputer disqualify itself from the hearing and allow itself to bereplaced by a human judge.
The computer's decision was even quicker this time. APPLICATION DENIED.
Berwin tossed Alan's side of the courtroom a black look and yieldedground. Alan had engaged a lawyer recommended once by Hawkes, a mannamed Jesperson. Briefly and concisely Jesperson cited Alan's claim tothe money, read the terms of the will, and stepped back.
The computer considered Jesperson's plea a few moments, reviewing thebrief which the lawyer had taped and fed to the computer earlier. Timepassed. Then the green panel lit, and the words, APPLICATION GRANTED.
Alan smiled. Bryson had been defeated; Max's money was his. Money thatcould be turned toward intensified research on the hyperdrive.
"Well, son?" Jesperson asked. "How does it feel to be a millionaire?"
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